Another Phantom
by JKrlin
Summary: Vlad Masters wanted Danny to look up to him, to see Plasmius as a teacher and a friend. However, time and time again Daniel had elected to ridicule and battle him instead. Danielle was the key to the son he wanted, but that venture had failed. Yet something anew could be derived from that failure. Maybe, just maybe, a true son could be made?
1. Prologue

Images. Photographs, unmoving pictures; they were the bottom of the food chain.

Something was in the process of launching out of a microwave. It looked like a turkey, cooked and prepared, looking so succulent save for its sharp teeth and seemingly violent attitude. The next showed a rather intimidating face glaring directly at him. If hate-fueled eyes were capable of penetrating glass, then these eyes would have done the job in destroying the reddish-tinted visor. A final portrait presented an overview of a city. Amity Park, was it? Its lights shone brightly in the night, stars scattered across the purple sky. To the right of this image, there was a girl, her purple eyes staring at the scenery with just as much exhilaration as he was feeling.

That last one was his favorite.

The next item along the list was moving images, videos, a first-person viewing of some sort of event. Some held sound, some did not, but each felt so real, as if he was actually there.

He was pinned down to the ground. Someone held his shoulders firmly. This same person was that girl who was flying next to him. She closed her eyes as she lowered her head to his. An auspicious sensation filled his senses as she forced her lips into his own. He struggled somewhat, but he allowed her assault to follow through.

Whatever emotions filled him dissipated as another picture took its place. This one exhibited what should have been a scene in some action movie. A feminine figure in a teal jumpsuit and red goggles charges at a collection of green-glowing animals. She wielded some sort of Darth Maul lightsaber that radiated the same type of glow, and boy, did she kick those Dreamworks movie rejects' butts. Her battle cries only enhanced the dramatic vibe he was getting.

"Hey, Fenturd!"

A jock, blond, Letterman jacket, walked aggressively toward him. If he could recall correctly, Dash would be stuffing him into a locker.

Why didn't he fight back? He sure wanted to. So, why _couldn't _he fight back? It felt so real that he must have been there. He knows how he would have reacted: giving Baxter a taste of his own medicine.

But at this point, the top tier arrived. There were simply voices, no visual aid. He could identify whose voice spoke now, easing his need to know, but those little victories couldn't hinder any of the torture exerted on him.

"I could train you, teach you everything I know –"

Electrical shocks practically danced around his body. They were probably electrical. That's what the pain translated into words in his brain, as the throbbing, twitching, and fire translated into his limbs and organs.

"Danny, I swear, there are days I wish I had never even met you!"

Another torment came about. He felt another emotion underneath all those shocks. Was it… rejection? Guilt? Wait, now there is-another pain, as if his insides were being churned and slowly scooped out, spoonful by spoonful. It sloshed around, and made him want to upchuck it all out.

"Oh great one, behold your humble servant, Frostbite, leader of the Far Frozen."

Praise for accomplishments that he could only partially recall, assuming he _was_ the one who achieved such great feats. The compliments felt misplaced, however. Was he really a hero? Do heroes ever feel their live, their very being slipping away, physically and literally?

"Actually, that was me. And you, eventually."

Shock. Not the kind tearing off his bodily appendages at the moment, but the sort that numbed his emotional stability. Surprise, astonishment, and then –

"…get… away…"

Anger, defiance, the need to survive. The beatings, the shocks, the melting, that unbearable heat only to be replaced by the occasional cold spots, the forced mind games played by his tormenter.

"…get away…"

Too much, too much. There was something that he had to do. An objective, a mission, a lifeline that needed to be maintained. If he failed, then that meant the end of the world. _End_ had multiple meanings, but –

"Get away, get away…"

It was wrong. All wrong. Everything wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. This torture, these images, voices – he was being melded and molded into something else, something, someone worthy of praise, of care, of-of –

"GET AWAY!"

… Of a voice.

He had a voice. He always had plenty of commentary to give, but dear god, he had a voice. Did he always have one? Was he always screaming during these sessions? He could never hear the sound of his own voice.

Now, though, he definitely could hear it.

"Ghostly Wale," was the name that popped out once his bawling ended.

He finally realized he was muttering, "Get away, get away," repeatedly under his breath. And while he had an actual voice, he could barely see a thing.

He drifted away. He hit a wall, but then a peculiar feeling resonated across his skin. That feeling traveled across his body as he went through the wall entirely.

_Ghost_.

The sensation repeated a few more times. He still felt hollow inside, but underneath his weariness and sore muscles, he felt triumphant.

_Freak_.

A voice, a body under his own control, abilities he only ever saw another perform were now his to dance with. If he wasn't so tired and seemed to be blind, he would be dancing in the air, breathing in the sights that weren't filtered to him by his torturer.

_Danny._

Something snapped.

_Fenton_.

He fell to the ground, probably dirt by the texture.

_Phantom_.

Everything was gone again. Silent.

For a moment, just for that particular moment…

Despite that nagging feeling at the back of his mind…

It felt like heaven.

He felt at peace.

X

_Oh, fiddlesticks._

Vladimir Masters' monitors and equipment, including his dearest Maddie holograms, had insisted that the abnormal readings today were nothing to worry about. They were simply the occasional spike that occurred every now and then, an irregularity that was expected with the instability in the subject. However, today's anomaly was obviously more than all of the time and money invested in this endeavor could handle.

That deafening shriek damaged every piece of glass, every piece of machinery, and the very foundation of the lab. Vlad himself was blasted through the ceiling, phasing through on instinct. However, he stayed tangible when he hit a supporting pillar of his mansion. When the earthquake had ended and the noise ceased to destroy his eardrums, Vlad opened his eyes to the aftermath of the desecration of his home.

_Nothing my interior decorator can fix_, the Mayor of Amity Park thought. What he was really worried about really was his lab.

The lab was, unfortunately and literally, in pieces. The floor was littered with the remains of his various contraptions and devices. Cracks plagued the walls, threatening to widen and bring the room down on itself. Even his personal Ghost Portal had activated its emergency locks and doors when Vlad's safeguards deemed its security to be at risk.

In the middle of his lab was the broken shell of a pod big enough to house a certain fourteen, now fifteen, year old boy. Broken glass surrounded it, as did several apparatuses formerly attached to it.

Danielle's return had proved much more informative than Vlad had expected. Her genetic makeup may have been solidified to allow her gallant frolicking across the world, but some residual ectoplasm had remained. Not all of the green goo of that failure had dispersed or reformed back into her. Enough was salvageable to be studied, and later, repurposed for a project he had a while ago thought obsolete.

Creating the perfect son, a Danny Phantom that would see Vlad Masters as a thoughtful, caring, and strong father.

It was still a work-in-progress, of course, and that explosion had essentially obliterated his lab, but he had high hopes for this project.

All Vlad needed to do was to repair the damages and find his future son. The boy's perfection can then be completed.

And with luck, young Daniel will be none the wiser until Vlad's son was ripe, trained, and ready.


	2. The First Night

_A little ragged round the edges, eh child?_

He awoke, his body sore but spirit feeling revitalized.

Dreams were always just more vague memories, sights and sounds that could hardly be assembled to anything coherent. This particular dream he had escaped was a mismatch of green skeletons, green fire, green rings, green voids, and so on.

Vision was restored, but the light was dark. Moonlight only barely allowed him to identify trees, bushes, all the signs of the woods. Everything was silent. No sounds of wild animals, of flowing breezes or streams. A part of him said that was a bad sign. Too quiet, but the silence must at least mean his torturer was nowhere near his position.

Maybe his eyesight still held some sort of defect, but everything he could see had an abnormal tint compared to the colors the images have shown. The wooden trunks and branches appeared grey. The leaves and sky looked violet, and the stars could hardly be seen.

As he slumped against a tree, his mind wandered. He was forgetting something. There was the regularly scheduled shocks, a scream, a –

… His _voice_. He learned things and gained things from the images, his torturer, but was he given this voice?

"Vv… voi…"

He took in a deep breath. He gurgled.

"Vvvvvvv…voice."

It sounded familiar, somewhere behind the roughness.

"Voice… My… voice."

Did it hurt to say things? Not quite. Everything was aching, but it was not _that _kind ofhurt. His body felt as if it was recovering from a longer than usual session.

"Sur…viv…al."

He began to mumble random words, whatever came to mind. He kept his voice low, too weak to speak much louder and not wanting to attract unwanted question.

He walked forward, downhill. More movement hopefully meant more distance between himself and wherever he was held captive. He dragged his feet along the grass. His back was probably hunched over, but perfect posture was never a part of his code of honor.

Plan. He needed a plan. There was the obvious: don't get caught and survive. Those were objectives to maintain, though. Not a step-by-step procedural plan Jazz would have probably liked, but –

Jazz. Jazz Fenton equaled sister. Jack Fenton. Jack equaled dad. Maddie was mom. Danny was… Phantom, and a Fenton. What did that make him?

He stopped walking.

Did he have a name?

He continued on his way.

X

Skulker was the Ghost Zone's greatest hunter. His planning and cunning defeated the Rogue Dragons in Dorathea's medieval realm. He single handedly conquered the bowels of Carnivorous Canyon. Those creatures of the Far Frozen know better than to travel beyond their homeland, and the last great beast to torment the Ghost Zone as a whole currently resides as a decorative figurine in his bedroom.

And yet, after a year and a half's worth of hunting, the pelt of the Ghost child is still not under Skulker's possession.

Granted, Skulker had underestimated the unique specimen, not to mention his companions. (The next time he sees a gorilla with a purple-furred back, he is going to gut it.) A few of the times Phantom was restrained before the hunter was during one of Plasmius' schemes or Skulker had stalled too long before dissecting the boy. The child himself grew stronger as well, both in strength and in skill. Despite his ignorance of the inner-workings of the Ghost Zone, the boy adapted well enough with some of its inhabitants and rules that self-proclaimed law enforcer Walker likes to maintain so much.

In the process of what Skulker must call his most exhilarating hunt in decades, he began to grow a begrudging respect for the young halfa.

Somewhere down the line, Skulker started to lost interest.

No matter what he did, the Ghost Child always managed to beat him. Phantom always found a way to defeat the odds. He's defeated Pariah Dark, of all people.

The hunts for Phantom became nothing more than tiring exercises, experiments for his various predatory inventions. The teenager made a great test subject, but for the most part, an unyielding, strong-willed, and impractical target as well. Pride can only fuel an obsession for so long.

Starting very soon, Skulker would aim his efforts back into an operation he had long ago forsaken for the halfa.

Of course, he didn't want the Ghost Boy to be let off the hook just like that. One final great battle must take place before Phantom is granted a release from Skulker's animosity.

It was no longer a hunt. It was pure war.

"Seriously," the boy muttered angrily at some point in their fight, "the first day of spring break is tomorrow. I had plans tonight. Do we really have to fight now?"

"That is exactly why I chose to attack now," Skulker had responded. "I wanted one final fight, just the two of us. One night giving it your all, and if you survive, you get a week of rest."

The fight was pushed into the mountains, the wilderness, also known as Skulker's favorite environment to hunt in.

A prime example of how Phantom had grown stronger was his improved reflexes. In Skulker's observations, the boy would sometimes take the full brunt of a fist or projectile. Now, however, he instinctively evaded such attacks, or redirected them to inflict minimal collateral damage. Skulker had to be more careful with the amount of rockets he fired, and of his battery power in his ecto-lasers. The boy was by no means an expert fighter, but he had experience.

The two ghosts levitated over a valley An acre, probably less, of the forest below was in ruins, burned into a crisp or full of decayed vegetation. The boy was panting with a bruise on his cheek and a few cuts bleeding through his jumpsuit.  
Skulker's armor was damaged and dented in every spot possible, as was expected.

"A final fight?" Phantom questioned finally, confused. "What, you think you're finally going to make a pelt out of me or are you planning on retiring?"

"The former I would very much like so," the hunter admitted, "but I'm more inclined to believe the latter is truly the case, Ghost Child." He motioned vaguely to the half-ghost in front of him. "You are still young, halfa, and you are also half human. You still age, physically at least, faster and more than most other ghosts. You also still retain the human attachments your human self insists on maintaining."

"Err, yeah, I'm still part human. Your point?"

Skulker sighed. "Ignoring the fact that you are the son of this world's leading experts on ghosts, you still do not know much of the Ghost Zone."

He held up a hand as Phantom began to object.

"I know of your mapmaking, and of Clockwork and Frostbite educating you, but it is hardly enough to cover the basics."

Discreetly, Skulker pressed a button on his gauntlet. A light began to beep out of Phantom's line of sight.

"Allow me to edify you. Many ghosts have obsessions, a simultaneous need and want that must be fulfilled. Spirits remain on a physical and tangible plain in order to complete their business that they can never let go."

"I'm not _that_ uneducated, Skulker. That's the basic idea behind ghosts: picking up where you left off when you were alive."

Skulker waved over his armaments. "My reason for not resting in peace is my need to hunt."

"Really? I would have never guessed." Phantom still had his sarcastic wit to him, but underneath was legitimate curiosity.

"My hunt for you is one of the longest," Skulker continued, smirking. "And one of the most memorable. You've evaded me far too many times than I would have liked." He chuckled lightly. "Tonight is my last attempt to capture you, Phantom. If I succeed, my mission is complete, and I move on to my next hunt. If you beat me once more, then I stop hunting you, and I still move on to my next hunt."

Phantom's lips quivered for a moment. "Wait, so if I win this fight, you stop hunting me and stay out of my life forever."

"Your life?" Skulker barked a laugh. "No promises on that, Ghost Child, but yes, after tonight, regardless of the outcome, my hunt for you is finished." He checked his gauntlet. The beeping light now held a continuous green hue. "And I did plan on making this a memorable ending." Skulker pressed a button, and he held his hands in front of him. His palms were raised side by side, facing toward Phantom. The metallic gloves folded and unfolded to form his latest weapon.

Phantom moved too slowly to land a victorious hit that would interrupt the hunter's attack.

A shockwave of sorts was fired from Skulker's weapon. A circular blue energy took form, beginning to grow larger and larger as it moved toward Phantom. It grew at an exponential rate, widening over such a large area so that Phantom could not simply swerve out of the way. He did try shooting a green blast of his own, but it just dissipated into the larger entity.

The superior blast consumed Phantom, his screams resonating across the valley. Oh, the screams were some of the most exhilarating spoils of this hunt.

Of course, activities involving the halfa never go according to plan. Skulker's holographic heads-up-display starting blinking rapidly, his sensors going haywire. Within moments, his vision went dark. His attachments ceased responding to his commands, and there was a stutter. Skulker himself suddenly felt very tired, and he descended to the ground.

When he regained his senses, Skulker noted he was in a mildly scarred woodland area. Smoke or mist or some equivalent plagued the surroundings. Even utilizing his enhanced abilities yielded unfruitful results.

Skulker's weapon was based around the Ghost Child's most devastating attack, his Ghostly Wail. It was a prototype, of course, and adapted to better harness the power of the Wail through an apparatus. All of the modifications did nothing to prevent the power failure and energy drain the Ghost Zone's Greatest Hunter just experienced, unfortunately.

One gauntlet morphed into a simple firearm. Skulker trekked slowly, keeping his eyes and metaphorical ears open. The Ghost Boy couldn't be that far, and he must be considerably weakened just as Skulker was. The advantage was to the hunter, since he did not solely rely on his ghostly abilities in this particular fight.

There was deathly silence. The tell-tale sounds of slogging through the woodwork and foliage came soon enough. The noises came occasionally, and only one paying attention would truly find the steps to be worth investigating.

A silhouette took shape in the distance. Skulker leveled his sight, the backside of a young adult steadily growing more and more comprehensible. The figure leaned on one leg and walked sloppily, obviously injured.

_There you are_, Skulker thought. He couldn't help but take in the moment, inscribing every detail into memory. The ghost knew he should fire right this instant, accomplish this damnable hunt, but he wanted to just relish in this. The trademark hair wavered in a soft breeze just as Skulker's weapon charged in a blue glimmer.

Skulker fired with a push of a button.

Someone else fired as well. From _behind_ him_._

The haphazard blast hit a nearby tree. A few more were fired accidentally into the fog, but they ceased as Skulker's very essence and body became much more fluid and flexible. His metallic suit and his glowing green hair materialized into a light cyan color as his body swished together. A ray of pulsing cyan energy pulled Skulker back. He turned his head, and he stopped struggling.

It was Phantom. _Fenton_, in his human form. Batter bruised, vaguely bloodied, wielding the Thermos. His eyes were hard, not in the green glow but normal, mortal sky blue.

Skulker can't have imagined the silhouette, the hair. It was not a clone, definitely not, as the halfa before Skulker was no doubt was currently too weak to even sprout a second head.

He was left with his questioning thoughts as he entered the Thermos, a part of him very confused, another part awfully angry, and another feeling bitterly defeated and complete.

This washis last hunt for the Ghost Boy, at least for the foreseeable future. He _could_ investigate just how there were too Phantom lookalikes this night, but he was moving on to bigger and better things.

Skulker allowed himself to rest in the Thermos. He did not get to finish his ghostly lesson with Phantom, but this conclusion will have to suffice.

X

Danny had a pretty good idea of how he looked right now.

Mud and dirt was practically everywhere. In his shoes, in his ears, in his mouth, in his shirt; there was always his intangibility, but he just ended up plummeting downward and swimming in more mud and dirt. Bruises, black and purple, at his sides, limbs, and probably somewhere round his eye, considering the pain around that area. When Danny spit, more red appeared than transparent water.

In ghost form, if Danny bled, it was usually green ectoplasm that was more solid than liquid compared to regular blood. Sometimes, there were red blotches among the harlequin. Danny Fenton, on the other hand, much more rarely bled anything green. The current moment was thankfully one of those times where ectoplasmic blood was absent.

It's a good thing, too. The absolute, very last thing he needs is risking his parents finding out that he is half-ghost.

Danny would have gone to Sam's, but she was dragged by her parents to some big-shot rich guy's luxury yacht for a party, something about finding "a nice, young boy whom may be a good influence." Sam probably could have gotten out of it somehow, but she owed her dad for convincing her mom to purchase an environmentally friendly car for her sixteenth birthday.

Tucker was out of town. There was a big family gathering, and his parents wanted to take advantage of the break and bring Tucker along. He said he'd be back before the week ends, however. Jazz may have been able to discreetly help, but then came another troublesome problem.

His newly bought cell phone was utterly in pieces.

Ignoring the fact that his parents would be harping him about that, Danny was unable to contact any of his friends or his sister. He couldn't use a payphone without his wallet, and interacting with random people for their phones in the streets would just mean strangers would ask about his injuries rather than the Fenton matriarch and patriarch.

All in all, Danny had no choice but to go home and face the awaiting questions of his parents concerning his current state of being.

Even without ghost powers, Danny was fairly skilled at staying unseen and being stealthy. He made it to Fenton Works without running into anyone. One of the plus sides of living in Amity Park was that crime rates were quite low, being balanced out with the ghost attacks. Most of the alleyways and dark corners were uninhabited save for stray cats.

Danny stood by his front door for who knows how long. Taking in a deep breath, and involuntarily wincing, he entered.

The living room was vacant, the lights off. The kitchen, however, was bright and noisy. No one seemed to notice Danny entering.

"I'm sure Danny's fine!" said a defensive voice reminiscent to Jazz's voice. "He can take care of himself."

"Jasmine," a deep voice spoke slowly, "if he isn't with Sam, Tucker, that Valerie girl, or at school, then where is he?"

"It's past midnight, Jazz," the eldest female Fenton said. "His curfew was two hours ago. He has never been this late."

"Maybe there's some school project he's working on." A flimsy excuse, and everyone knew it.

"We talked with Mr. Lancer already, Jazz. There is no school-related reason for him to be out right now."

The lazy and tired side of Danny wanted to go directly to bed, but he couldn't just leave his parents worrying and Jazz subject to their questions. He walked into the kitchen, but he didn't say a word, partially due to his exhaustion. His family, on the other hand, was ecstatic. The three other Fentons gasped as Danny leaned against a counter.

"Ugh…" Danny swallowed. His mind went blank and he couldn't form any more words.

Dad's face tightened before he frowned, eyeing his son with an indecipherable expression. His clenched fists shook, his eyes betraying any pretense of a cold mask he may have put up. Jack Fenton was angry, and there was something else he was feeling while looking at his battered son, too.

Maddie Fenton's eyes widened in shock before half closing them. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but she closed it. This wasn't the first time her dear boy arrived home with wounds and lacerations. He never bothered to give a clear-cut explanation before. Maddie gazed at Danny's battered form, mind traveling at high speeds at what could have caused such injuries and how she would go about to treat them.

Jazz was the first to allow a weakness to seep through, at least a little bit. A real, honest tear went down her face. She covered her mouth, too stunned to speak, before moving fast and snatching a first aid kit from a drawer. She said nothing as she opened the kit.

"Jazz, I –" Danny stopped short. What could he say to make this situation any better?

"Don't talk, Danny," his mom advised lowly, assisting her daughter. "You need to rest."

"But –"

"We'll take care of you, Daniel" Jack interrupted, his eyes softening a fraction. He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, gentle enough to not agitate a potential wound. "Everything's going to be alright, son."

More words escaped him. Danny wanted to say something, anything, but he didn't know what.

Something clicked, and Danny Fenton closed his eyes.

No one detected a fifth individual leaving the building

X

So… his name was Danny. It was a little harder for him to remember the name, and the faces, and the connections between them, but he watched, and discovered the Danny he had been watching for so long.

_He_ was the hero, right? The one protecting his hometown, loved unconditionally by his friends and family.

Danny was hurt, very hurt. His family; Jazz, Jack, mo – Maddie; would take care of him, of course. Mr. No-Name had no place here. He began to drift out of Fenton Works when something caught his eye.

He floated in front of a window of a neighboring building. He was given a perfect reflection of himself in the moonlight and the streetlights.

Silver, messy hair, flippant spikes hung over his temple. A black streak of strands went across down the barely maintained mane. Black eyebrows were stationed over thick crimson eyes that glowed with a softer icy blue outline. He had on a black and light grey jumpsuit that was very, _very_ familiar, especially with the white lettered insignia on his chest.

The important feature was his face, because it was _exactly like Danny Phantom_'s. Organic colorations aside, it was near perfect replica.

Coherent thought is troubling thing. He was far too sloppy to make the relationships and the connections and all the stuff that can make what he is seeing make sense.

He blasted the window. With a red blast that looked like Danny Phantom's blasts from that fight with Skulker.

_Big or small, I will still have your head in my trophy room._

He paid no acknowledgment to the shrieks as he flew off into the sky and further into the city, a small collection of high-rises off in the distance.

He can remember images and emotions of disliking the inner city. Too crowded, too many people, easy to get lost in. Getting lost might help him clear his head and avoid getting caught or seen by anyone.

He needed time to think, to devise a plan and…

There's already a Danny, Phantom _and_ Fenton, so what did that make him?

He decides to ignore the question and other lingering thoughts for now and focus on where to get some Nasty Burgers.


	3. Unwanted Confrontations

_Yeah, you better run! I see you again, I am gonna tear you –_

He awoke with a jump, automatically hovering into the air. He could feel the glow, the energy radiating off him now. Despite his weak body, the power gave him reassurance that he could properly defend himself.

Fortunately, no threats made themselves obvious. Only the rising sun, transitioning from morning to noon, was worth noting, easily seen pass down the alley and the buildings. He lowered himself to the ground, sitting with his legs crossed on the cardboard pieces. His head rested on the side of a dumpster.

Once his breathing steadied, he felt something shudder from within. He groaned and grabbed the sides of his head.

It still hurt. Thinking about things hurt. There was always some sort of anesthesia or adrenaline keeping him going, but the pain finally caught up with him. Confusion, disorientation; hey, good thing there was a dumpster to lean on.

So he did less thinking, focusing more on internal instincts. His stomach grumbled again, enticing him to raise himself off the improvised bedding. He managed to scavenge some food off of a bakery, but the effort took its toll of him. Now, he needed more sustenance. Maybe he could find the Nasty Burger. He was too busy wandering last night and –

He stopped that train of thought. Too much thinking led to aching, and he did not want any more of that at the moment.

Inclinations drove him to become invisible. He floated upward as if it was just a simple chore, yet he could barely feel a thing save for his absolute hunger.

Off in the distance, yes, there it was. The red text mounted on a tower. Burgers, and –

_I'm still here. I_ _still exist_.

He was already soaring against the wind.

X

"Have a nice day, Grey!"

"You, too, Stan."

Valerie made sure to give her boss a wave and a goodhearted smile before exiting the Nasty Burger's back door.

Stan Larson was once upon a time like Valerie. He was in his junior year when she was in elementary. Once she began middle school, Stan's family ran into tough times. Despite his internships at big-name companies, he needed some way to help pay the bills, hence his employment at the local Nasty Burger.

The Gray and Larson patriarchs were best friends. Damon Gray had been assisting with Stan's family's financial problems before his own layoff. Stan's father was able to connect Damon with the right people to earn enough money to get by. Stan managed to Valerie a job at the Nasty Burger along with part-time careers at other businesses.

Of course, the Nasty Burger manager was completely ignorant to Valerie's exploits in ghost hunting. Nevertheless, they maintained a cordial friendship, and after months of hard work, he hadn't been directly in the line of fire of a ghost attack.

Valerie did not want him to get involved at all with the ghost business. Sure, no one in Amity Park could really avoid anything supernatural, but at least Stan wasn't like Danny where he had to endure constant exposure because of his parents. She owed Stan a lot, and he deserved to go about his life without being troubled with her own personal mission, just like how Danny should be able to however he could.

As Valerie exited the back door to her place of employment, she almost instantly noticed a figure scavenging a trash can. He had icy white hair and a brown, dirty blanket off of him, partially covering his head.

It wasn't the first time a homeless person made himself comfortable by the restaurant. Normally, Valerie would have lent a helping hand, but the lunch rush would start soon.

"Hey, sir?"

He did not seem to notice her, and he did not seem like one of the usual vagrants that Valerie, for better or worse, came to know.

"You can't be going through our trash."

Still no answer, patience wearing thin.

Valerie sighed and approached the stranger. "Hey buddy! Are you even listening to me?" Finally, the vagabond turned to face her.

The torn blanket covered some of the stranger's upper face, but there was no mistaking the glowing eyes and silvery tips of hair. Regardless of the crimson replacing the green, the rest of the face spoke greater than any unusual facial characteristic.

"Phantom?" she yelped outright, surprised at the ghost's current state of being. He gave one look of absolute panic before flying away from the premises. The Red Huntress was on his tail within seconds.

X

Jazz rocked back and forth on her bed, clutching Bear-bert Einstein onto her chest. She hadn't changed into her pajamas and had no idea if she had fallen asleep. Her little friend's artificial fur was wet, as were her own clothes.

She told Danny time and time again to let her take more command in their ghost hunting ring. Danny may have the experience, but he's still brash and reckless. Jazz was older, more intelligent, and could strategize better. She knew how to fix all of the weapons and appliances constructed by Fenton Works more so than any of their little group, she knew how to tend to wounds, she knew how to –

She knew how to be good sister, darn it! She's supposed to be there for her little brother, make sure he gets out okay from his own adventures!

Danny is a fast healer. He'll be physically fine soon enough. Once he's up, Jazz can lecture him properly before their parents get their hands on him.

When Jazz no longer felt so numb, she entered her brother's room, space travel and astronaut posters littering the walls.

Already, his lacerations and bruises appeared to be healing.

Jazz sat on a chair, looking aimlessly across the room to occasionally glance at her little brother.

X

He flew fast, faster, and then he crashed straight against a stop sign, the constant instinct of intangibility waning. Before, he automatically phased through offending physical obstacles, but now it had to be a conscious effort considering how his face kissed the white text.

At first, he was unperturbed by the familiar voice calling to him at the Nasty Burger. He ignored it in favor of discovering any unwanted and poorly wasted sustenance. After the insistent shout, something triggered. The voice belonged to the face he often saw through a red-tinted visor.

Panic accelerated his retreat but also clouded his thoughts, slivering a naïve bliss through his trepidation. The frontward shock helped jumpstart reality on his shoulders.

"Oh my God! Danny Phantom!"

He pushed away the many voices that just loved to play random tunes within his head. This new shriek sounded so much more actual and real.

"Look at his hair!"

"Ah, ya see? He's just another one of those damn kids prettying up their hair!"

"Gosh, he's so hot."

"What's with the rags?"

"Phantom? Is he okay? He ain't moving."

"Whoa! Look, the Red Huntress!"

He skyrocketed into the air, reaching the level of a traffic light and swaying slightly to hover over the center of an intersection. He could see people all around, pointing and shouting, some holding their cell phones up. Even the drivers stopped, blocking the formerly moving traffic.

He turned, and he had to consciously move to dodge the red ecto-blasts.

"You've got no chance, Phantom!" the woman on the hover board declared. She was armed with a big _effing_ gun. "Gotta be honest; I don't know why a ghost is scrounging for food at the back of a Nasty Burger. You working for the Lunch Lady now or something?"

Witty retort. He was supposed to respond with a witty retort. It was right there, somewhere on the tip of his tongue, but no time for that. More red projectiles were trying to fry him.

"What's with the red eyes, anyway? Trying to take a page out of Plasmius? I thought he was supposed to be the 'evil' ghost."

The crowd was cheering, some for the Huntress, some for Phantom. He listened to them speak while avoiding the attacks.

"Kick her ass, Phantom! She ain't got nothing on you!"

"I'm betting the Red Huntress is going to win this fight, man. Something ain't right with Phantom."

"Why are his eyes red? What's with the black streak in his hair?"

"I think a hero like that is entitled to his own fashion choices."

"Don't they look cute together? I think they'd do great as a couple."

His attacker actually heard that last one. She turned away from her target to glare at a girl by a crosswalk. "Who said that? Who just said Phantom and I would look 'great as a couple'?" The teenager in question shrunk at the ferocious reaction and huddled behind her companions. "The ghost boy and I are far from best buddies, understand!"

A distraction! An excellent diversion to cut and run! Besides, the headache was getting worse, so retreating before anyone else got hurt –

_Why? Because she's one of _your_ kind? A ghost?_

One blink and a blinding flash of a memory later, he realized that the Red Huntress was rising out of a small depression in the asphalt. Some smoke something or other with a red hue dissipated in front of him, and he realized that they were rising out of his gloved hands. They were hot, almost burning hot.

Cheers and screams followed. It was the ever stationary crowd, throwing off random comments left and right. He tried to push them away. Too loud, too confusing.

He dodged another blast, flying higher up.

"What are you up to, ghost?" Val–Red Huntress–Valerie, demanded with a cannon supported on her shoulder. "What _is _with the red eyes and black highlights? Don't tell me Danielle is taking fashion advice from you, too." She paused. "Something else is different with you Phantom."

Phantom! That was a name… that wasn't his… drat, the longing for a name just increased tenfold.

That name did bring back another quick flash, like the ones when he was imprisoned. No audio this time, but a quick, split-second visual. He reenacted the short image, bringing his hands together and thrusting them toward the Huntress–Valerie– person.

A red-pinkish stream of energy flew at her. She veered out of its way without hesitation and fired her cannon. He wasn't so lucky, however.

He landed right in the middle of a street. Fortunately, the chase had moved to a different area of the city. Hopefully less noise, but he could already hear the collection of footsteps and honking cars moving toward him. Valerie was one thing, but a roving mob of fanboys and fangirls? No thanks.

_Dude, you're Danny Phantom? Can you sign my chest? It's for my kid!_

After shoving away _that_ odd thought away, he rose and cracked his neck. Opening his eyes, he realized with a start that he could see some familiar remains of a broken section of a building, police officers and construction workers surveying the scene. They stared right back at him.

"Get out of here!" Valerie yelled from behind him. The men and women in the distance ran, and a surge forward ensured the accompanying potshot hit only the street. Her target returned to the air, firing back his own bursts of energy.

He floated backward. In the corner of his eye, he could see the building that he was just trespassing the night before.

A duo of orange and blue spandex-clad ghost hunters exited the front doors.

"Don't move you ectoplasmic manifestation of corruption!"

"What did you do with our boy?!"

He stared at the three silver, green, and black colored rifles aimed at him.

"…" He muttered a curse, and felt a small amount of satisfaction despite his rapidly beating heart. He was able to speak, very consciously, at least once.

X

Danny jumped awake, at the sound of ecto-gun discharge and at his icy blue breathe escaping his throat.

Jazz was sitting beside his bed, and shouted his name as she hugged him.

"Whoa! Easy, Jazz, I –" Danny winced, looking down at his arms and torso. There were the bandages and an absence of a shirt. He blinked as he realized someone had to have treated him after he lost consciousness when entering his house. "Jazz, did mom and dad –"

"They saw you, Danny!" The eldest of the Fenton heirs reeled back and glared at her brother. Well, it was one of her classic "older sister" glares, but Danny could see the dried tears. "You came home and you were hurt, we had to patch you up –" Jazz stopped short to take a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down.

"Our parents saw me?" Danny's face was growing pale. He grimaced, his body still sore. It didn't feel _too_ bad, he guessed.

Jazz was silent, staring blankly for a moment before sighing. She composed herself. "You came home last night, in human form, all bloody and hurt. Mom, Dad, and I had to bandage you and put you to bed. Where were you?"

Memories of the previous confrontation with the Ghost Zone's greatest hunter resurfaced. Danny rubbed his eyes. "Skulker, he made another new weapon. It was a lot like my Ghostly Wail and…"

The icy breath returned. Danny turned to look out his window.

"Oh no," Jazz asserted, getting to her feet, hands on her hips. "Our parents and I can deal with whatever ghost is out there. You, little brother, need to rest."

"But –"

"We found ectoplasm in the house," Jazz interrupted, "red and green goop along a window frame in the kitchen, after you came home. Mom thinks a ghost followed you home, and with your injuries, you should let us take care of it."

No, it was Danny that should have paid attention and taken care of whatever specter that could have been following him. He tried to get out of bed but only managed to kiss the floor. Ignoring the aching and his sister's protests, Danny stumbled to his feet.

More echoes of ecto-fire can be heard now.

"Danny, don't you –"

_Sorry, Jazz_. "I'm going ghost!"

The white rings appeared, moving over his body.

Danny promptly lost consciousness, falling again.

X

"We will personally rip you apart molecule by molecule for hurting our boy, ghost freak!"

As he avoided more and more projectiles, Valerie turned to the Fentons. "Danny was hurt?"

Mom–Maddie, said with resolve, "Phantom must have." One well-placed shot grazed the former prisoner's shoulder. "Look, Jack! The ghostly poltergeist must have mutated to bleed red _and_ green ectoplasm."

True to her word, a trail of a sticky solid-liquid substance dripped down his arm.

"And how do you know our son, Red Huntress?" the Fenton matriarch shot a sideways glance to the teen ghost hunter.

The armored supernatural vigilante seemed to hesitate and sputter for a moment. "Ugh, who doesn't know the son of the infamous Fentons?"

"Talk later," Jack-Dad exclaimed, pulling out some sort of fishing pole in one hand and a small holdout blaster in another. "Get the ghost!"

Another flicker –

_You're a ghost? I… hate ghosts!_

He grabbed the line of the fishing apparatus, concentrating a lot of energy into his hands. While the line began to melt, his free hand created an oval-shaped shield to deflect the oncoming attacks. Noticing Valerie trying to flank him, he raised his head and shot two lasers out of his eyes to throw her off.

"Look! Fenturd's folks and the Red Huntress are fighting Phantom!"

Great, the freaking fans arrived.

He needs to pay more attention, much more attention. It felt like just a reflex to shoot at Dash's direction. Boy, did his shriek and retreat behind Paulina and Kwan feel satisfying.

Breaking these comforting thoughts, something penetrated right through his chest. He felt some metallic contraption rotate inside. The chain connected to the contraption waved down to smash him onto the street. Then he crashed through a stoplight, then against a tree before he broke the chain and pulled out the blades that had expanded inside.

He ducked under a pole, a staff. Mo-Mad-Mom, whatever was attacking him. He became intangible and passed right through her. From behind, he gathered energy into a fist once again to –

Wait a second, he didn't want to hurt her, did he? She was a… parental figure, if anything.

Another's fist came roaring at his face, allowing him to go untouchable and invisible again rather than immediately counterattack. Looked like Da-Jack had on some Fenton Gauntlets or whatever they were called.

Counterattacking then became an especially harder task when those gauntlets began to choke him.

"Don't you dare hurt my family!" Some spit with excessive ectoplasm landed on Jack's jumpsuit. Jack-Dad's expression of fury was only amplified with disgust. "And don't you ever hurt my son." The elder man delivered a punch that knocked the youngster across an entire block, the trip halted by a crash with a news van.

"Wha – oh, um, this is Lance Thunder, reporting live only a street away from Fenton Works. The independent ghost hunter Red Huntress's brawl with Danny Phantom just grew more interesting as Jack and Maddie Fenton have chosen to participate into the fight."

Lance nudged the unmoving teen, the camerawoman filming everything.

"Phantom, do you have anything to comment on about this street fracas. Why do you have a black streak of hair and red eyes now, unlike your previous white mane and green pupils? The people –"

Lance's microphone was filched away and promptly disintegrated. He shuddered at the glare sent his way.

"I should have taken that job with Frank in Willamette," Lance muttered before running away with a few of his coworkers abandoning the filming gear. As the ghost boy levitated to a higher elevation, however, the camerawoman continued to record.

X

Somewhere within the upper class neighborhood of Amity Park, Vlad Masters did a spit take as he watched his beautiful yet imperfect creation take flight and commit to an aerial battle with young Grey.

"Maddie," he called out to one of his holograms. "Please recover all media recordings and reports of this incidence. And go contact Skulker or any other free ghost grunts interested in a little pay."

Vlad finished the rest of his coffee as he watched his Danny clone blast Grey into the machinery positioned right over Fenton Works. Jack opened fire, foolishly damaging his own property. Dearest Maddie, the true beauty herself, somehow made her way to the rooftop of a neighboring apartment building and tackled the clone with her staff.

"Where _is_ young Daniel, anyhow?" Vlad wondered aloud. Nevertheless, he expected him appear at some point during this episode.

As an extra layer of security, Vlad opted to redirect his own little spy bots and low-level ghosts from the woodlands surrounding his lab to Fenton Works. Plasmius was not quite in the mood to tease or combat the young man should he make an entrance. However, some ghostly distractions may allow a quick and discreet recapture of the clone.

Should that fail, the clone escape, and Daniel be quite aware of another duplicate running about, Vlad could always get Skulker for assistance.

A plan now set in mind, the halfa transformed and went on to execute his plot.

X

"Let's get you tucked nice and resting, Danny," Jazz muttered as she placed her younger brother, in human form, back under his blankets. Luckily, she felt completely in control now, rejuvenating her spirits.

She still fell backwards, however, when her mother and a ghost locking fists with her fell from the ceiling.

"Danny?" Jazz screeched. The lookalike looked at her, his eyes just like Danny's but twisted in some crimson version. He froze, just as she did, but Mom knocked him into the closet.

"Jazz, honey," the bruised and now mask-less scientist commanded hurriedly, "get Danny and go to the lab."

"But –"

"Now, Jasmine!"

Mom lunged for the Danny-lookalike. Jazz, acting on pure instinctive need to follow her mother's good authority and need to take care of her little brother, carried Danny bridal style and brought him out with her.

Dad came barreling in through the front door as Jazz and Danny got to the living room. "Jazz, are you and Danny okay?" he asked as he quickly looked over his children.

"We're fine," Jazz answered, tightening her hold on Danny. "Mom's upstairs fighting the ghost."

Just like last time, the two combatants went through the building's walls and landed on the couch. Despite Maddie Fenton having her foe pinned with her staff on his neck, they rolled to the floor, the lookalike's hands and eyes glowing with a familiar aura of energy. As he powered up, he glanced up and maintained a gaze on Jazz. His mouth opened a little, as if stunned by what he saw.

"What did I tell you, ghost?"

While Dad swooped in to help his wife, Jazz made it to the lab and placed her brother in a sitting position against the wall.

"Just rest, Danny."

He coughed, his eyelids slowly opening. "I… I can go ghost, Jazz."

"Not now." Picking up the Fenton Ghost Peeler, Jazz in her silver armored state held her blaster at the ready. "I said rest."

"But there's more," icy breath escaping, "more coming."

Like Danny had foretold, more ghosts phased into the room. They were abstract creatures, without any noteworthy features aside from eyes. Some had limbs, some were all teeth and growls.

Danny tried to move, tried to do anything to help his sister, but all he could do was watch helplessly as she tried to keep the ghosts at bay. While she was quite successful, the noises upstairs continued. Who knows what was happening to their parents?

A box with miscellaneous items fell in front of the immobile Danny. His eyes widened when one of these items seemed to resemble a syringe of some sort.

Fighting his exhaustion, Danny swiped a vial of Ecto-Dejecto serum, the same one that helped stabilize Danielle's deteriorating body, and injected himself a good dose.

X

Valerie enjoyed carnival games when she was younger. Shooting those cardboard cutouts were a joy, and they were the easiest games to win prizes. So, firing potshots at the invading specters, from the high ground of Fenton Works' roof no less, wasn't even a chore. It was a mild inconvenience, if anything.

Plus, it let her spot Vlad Plasmius to spawn out of a nearby alleyway, behind the crowd of high school students. Since everyone was so focused on the ghost battle, no one noticed his transformation into Amity Park Mayor Vlad Masters.

The Red Huntress narrowed her eyes at the mayor's arrogant look. He must have orchestrated this entire shebang. Maybe he even poisoned Phantom to look different and act so out of character. For as long as Phantom's been in town, he _never_ fought this hard against Danny's parents.

"Excuse me," the deceptive ghost shouted, his arms raised high to attract attention, "your town's ever faithful mayor coming through." As the crowd made way for Masters, he pulled out a small ecto-pistol, designed with pink highlights rather than the Fentons' green preference. "Officers," he called to the cops already putting up tape, "please hold back the civilians. The resident ghost hunters and I have things under control."

Surprisingly, the officers allowed him through, all alone without any support. And most of the local law enforcement were recently armed with weapons capable of damaging ghosts, too, further befuddling Valerie's understanding.

_Either possessed by ghosts,_ Valerie decided, _or on Plasmius' payroll._

He had the audacity to look up and wave at Valerie while they were both expertly firing at the ghostly pests. She met his smirk with her own. Masters would get what was coming to him soon enough, after all. If Danielle ever paid Amity Park another visit in the near future, Valerie knew who to talk to.

Both of the pair's overconfident smiles were broken by a sudden arrival of two entities bursting out of Fenton Works.

Valerie had to lower her cannon and zoom in with her helmet's enhancements to make sure what she was seeing was what really was there.

Two, count 'em, _two Danny Phantoms_, right there, tussling against each other before shoving one another away. Masters seemed taken aback as well.

"Who are you?" the green-eyed Phantom screamed.

The red-eyed Phantom stopped panting. His mouth was open, still breathing noticeably. All of his previous injuries looked as if they were healed, or the ghostly equivalent of healed. His gaze was locked solely on his twin.

"Oh my," Masters stated loudly, pressing his empty hand onto his chest. "Who do we have here?"

The Phantom with the black streak across his snowy white hair shifted his head to look at Masters. He closed his mouth, and, without any indecision, fired a red ecto-blast from the palm of his hand.


End file.
